


Liar

by misato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco, Dirty Talk, Light Angst, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 22:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: “Are they…” Harry whispered shyly, trailing off. “Are they looking at us?”“You bloody idiot,” Draco murmured, leaning down so that his lips brushed against Harry’s ear. “You’re Harry Potter. Of course they’re looking.”





	

Ron Weasley was getting married, and Harry Potter didn’t even have a date to the wedding.

Having broken things off with Ginny a few weeks prior, he had worried it would be a bit awkward seeing her again, especially since she would be accompanied by one Dean Thomas. But she had been cordial enough during the ceremony; as they had slowly filed into the building, she had offered him a small smile: a peace offering of sorts. 

She had taken it very well; him being gay, that is, and had promised not to tell anyone else until Harry was ready to tell Ron and Hermione and the rest of their friends himself. It wasn’t as if they even had a clue; it came as a shock to Ginny, and she had been his  _ girlfriend _ . Ron had even offered, out of pity, to pair him up with one of Fleur’s Veela cousins, but Harry had respectfully declined. No one had even theorised it before; even the bloody newspapers hadn’t the faintest idea that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was a goddamn...well. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it. He’d had nightmares about the names Ron would call him behind his back; the first nightmares he’d had in a long while. 

The ceremony had gone by quickly and without much fault, and the reception had begun, and people had given speeches and that sort of thing. He had gotten through his own speech unscathed, and everyone had clapped, and Hermione had looked very pleased (she had helped him with some of the wording). 

But now the night was open-ended, and he was still dateless and afraid, trying to find a seat in a whirlwind of red hair and champagne glasses (which Hermione had charmed to float around the reception hall on silver trays). Several couples were dancing to a slow song that he had never heard before, and Harry was trying his best not to look at Ginny and Dean, who were wrapped around one another in a tight embrace. He had never been one for that sort of thing, even when he  _ was  _ trying to be straight. 

All of the little tables seemed to be full, except for one.

Draco Malfoy was sitting alone at the opposite end of the room, his blonde hair glinting in the candlelight. 

Harry hadn’t spoken to him since their eighth and final year of school. Even though they weren’t exactly unfriendly anymore (Draco had nodded at him when they passed each other in hallways, and Harry had let Draco borrow a quill during a test, once), they weren’t friends. Not in the slightest.

But he looked lonely. He was probably the only other person at the wedding besides Harry who hadn’t brought a date.

Harry approached the table gingerly. Draco barely looked up. His face was thin and gaunt, and his dress robes seemed to swallow him whole. He was staring at his plate as if he expected the food on it to disappear.

“Is this seat taken?” Harry said, his voice wavering a bit, and Draco looked up, his eyes filling with confusion and fear.

Then he shook his head.

“Sit down,” Draco said, his voice quiet and controlled.

Harry knew that tone of voice well. It was the voice Draco had used whenever he was called upon in class. It was submissive and docile and made Harry feel sick to his stomach. It was the voice Harry had learned to use at the age of five; the Dursleys had never liked for him to be anything but silent. If he had to speak, he would speak softly. Harry could imagine that Draco had been treated the same. 

But he didn’t say anything back.

He just sat down.

“Nice reception,” Draco commented, his words rehearsed.

“I guess,” Harry said, noncommittally. “Did Hermione invite you?”

Draco’s eyes flashed and his mouth twisted into a familiar smirk, and Harry almost thought that things were going to be normal. Draco would make a snide remark, and Harry would bicker with him, and one of them would probably hex the other. But then it disappeared. His stormy grey eyes became placid. His chapped lips pressed into a thin, faded line. There was no sign of any disruption.

“Yes,” Draco said, finally. “I can’t imagine why.”

His words have no bitter sting behind them. 

“She forgives you, you know,” Harry said, gently.

“I assumed as much,” Draco said. “But Harry, I don’t forgive myself.”

Harry couldn’t help it. His mouth split into a wide grin.

“What?” Draco said, looking more annoyed than Harry had seen him look in the past year. “Is there something in my hair? Because, sweet Salazar, they were throwing rice; what kind of Muggle tradition is that anyway?”

“No,” Harry said, still smiling. “You called me Harry.”

“I’ve called you Harry before,” Draco frowned, acting defensive. “I’m sure of it.”

“I can count the times you’ve called me Harry on one hand, Draco.”

“Ha!” Draco said. “You just called me Draco.”

“I’ve  _ been  _ calling you Draco.”

“Since when?”

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it again, trying to come up with an argument.

“In my mind, I think of you as Draco.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Draco said, and there that smirk was again, but this time it didn’t fade. “And what exactly are you thinking about in that scarred head of yours?”

Harry was lost for words. It wasn’t as if he had thought about...okay, maybe he had. Once. Twice. Three times. A few dreams here and there. But...

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he blurted out.

“Actually, I would.”

Draco’s voice was smooth; the words hummed under his breath as he leaned across the table, eyes ablaze. His loose robes shifted, and Harry could see his collarbones, pale and unmarked as marble. He wanted to kiss him all of a sudden, and if it wasn’t for Luna Lovegood, he might have.

“Oh, hello, you two,” Luna piped up from right beside their table, as if she had been there all along. “Harry, would you like to dance?”

“I was just about to ask  _ Draco  _ here,” Harry said, emphasising the boy’s name with vigour.

“I see,” Luna smiled knowingly. “I’ll leave you to it.”

After she trotted off to find Neville in the sea of guests, Harry stood and offered his hand.

“Oh,” Draco said, his voice soft. “You were serious?”

“Do I look like the type to joke about that sort of thing?” Harry said, and Draco shrugged.

“I’d no idea you were bent,” Draco said, upon taking his hand, and Harry flushed.

“Er, I mean, well-”

“So I take it you aren’t, then?”

“No,” Harry said. “I am. Very much. Bent, that is.”

He had never really said the word out loud before, and it tasted like freedom on his lips, to say such a thing in a crowded room.

Draco grinned, and Harry realised that he had never really seen Draco smile before. Not like that, anyway. Not so pure and perfect that Harry wanted to crash their lips together in a messy kiss, right then and there. 

But he didn’t. 

He led the other man to the dance floor, where the other witches and wizards were quickly pairing off for a slow dance, and he wondered if this was a rash decision. Then he realised that rash decisions were the ones he was best at making.

Draco pulled him close and Harry let the blonde’s hands snake around his waist; Draco was obviously better at this than he was, although he would never admit that out loud.

They danced for a while, through the next song too. Harry found himself getting lost in Draco’s gaze, which softened as he bit his lip and opened his mouth to speak.

“Are they…” Harry whispered shyly, trailing off. “Are they looking at us?”

“You bloody idiot,” Draco murmured, leaning down so that his lips brushed against Harry’s ear. “You’re Harry Potter. Of course they’re looking.”

Harry laughed gently, but he could almost feel Ron’s eyes burning into his back as he leaned up and whispered back:

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Are you offering-”

“I think you know exactly what I’m offering,” Harry said, shyness gone, and they slipped out of the building quietly before anyone could notice that they were gone.

They Apparated to Harry’s bedroom almost immediately. Upon arrival, Harry leaned in and kissed him warmly, hands grasping at his silvery blonde hair.

“Don’t muss up my hair, Potter,” Draco said, but he was smiling again.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” Harry breathed.

“Really?”

“No,” Harry said. “You used to be somewhat of a wanker.”

“Oh,” Draco said shortly. “You’re right, of course, I-”

“I’m only teasing you,” Harry said. “I really have been wanting to kiss you. Since fifth year, probably. Maybe even fourth.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Draco said again, this time breathily. “Do you maybe...do you maybe want to do it again?”

Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s chastely.

“Like that?” he asked sweetly.

Draco smirked.

“Like this,” he said, and kissed Harry, open-mouthed and sinful and  _ perfect _ .

Harry found his hands wandering; he’d never needed to touch someone so badly before: he wanted to feel every inch of Draco’s skin. He had no idea how he’d ever thought he was straight.

“Why are you still wearing your robes?” he said, and Draco undressed in record time.

“I should’ve told you earlier, but I’m a bottom,” Draco said. “If that’s a problem…”

“It’s not,” Harry said quickly. 

Oh, Godric, it definitely wasn’t a problem. Not with Draco standing there looking beautiful as hell in nothing but his boxer briefs, one hand slipping beneath the fabric of his underwear.

“What are you into?” Draco said casually, as if that was something that should be said casually. 

“Er…” Harry said. “I’m not too experienced with this sort of thing.”

“Salazar,  _ really _ ? You’re the Chosen One and you never once-”

“Well…”

“How conservative  _ are  _ you Gryffindors?”

“I’ll suck you off, then. I’ve been told I’m good at it.”

“Okay,” Harry said, knees growing weak, and he took off his dress robes.

“Get on the bed,” Draco said, and Harry did. “That’s right, lie back, spread your legs for me.”

His voice was low, a soft humming that calmed Harry’s nerves, and he barely heard Draco’s gasp as he tugged down his boxers and began to stroke his half-hard cock.

“Fuck, you’re huge,” he breathed. “Could you fuck my mouth, Potter? Please?”

“I can try,” Harry said stupidly.

“You’re no good at dirty talk, are you?” Draco said. “Pity, I guess I’ll have to make up for that.”

“How, exactly?”

“By doing this,” Draco said, the look in his eyes devilish, and swallowed Harry’s cock down to the hilt.

Harry had no idea what he was doing, if he was being honest, but it felt bloody amazing; the way Draco worked his cock. It felt like he was down there for ages; each moment seemed endless and perfect.

He was about to come, and suddenly Draco pulled off.

“Did you think I was going to let you finish?” Draco teased. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Okay,” Harry said, feeling stupid again, but when the blonde took off his underwear and slid onto the bed, he forgot everything other than Draco.

“I want you to prep me,” Draco said. “You can do it with magic, but I like it better manually. Here, I’ll show you how.”

He leaned over the edge of the bed and fumbled through his discarded robes for his wand.

He cast a spell, muttering it under his breath, and lubricant poured into Harry’s palm.

“There you go, now…” He guided his hand towards the space between his legs, and pressed Harry’s fingers against his hole. “You can start with two, I...I finger myself a lot.”

Harry nodded and began pushing his fingers inside, twisting and curling and stretching -- he had fingered himself, before, but he didn’t do it often.

“Oh,  _ yes _ ,” Draco gasped. “Add a third. Maybe a fourth. Fuck, your cock is huge, Potter. I can’t wait to take it.”

It took a bit more stretching before Draco was satisfied.

“I’m going to ride you,” he said, and straddled Harry effortlessly. 

“Please,” Harry said. 

“Do you love me?” Draco smirked.

“Fuck, Draco, would you just-”

“Please,” Draco said, his voice suddenly soft and low. “I kind of need to hear it. Just...please.”

“I love you,” Harry choked out.

“Liar,” Draco said, and sunk down onto his cock.

“You’re right,” Harry said, as Draco rode him, hard. “I don’t love you, but Draco…” He groaned. “I think I could try.”

Those silver eyes became teary, and Draco shut his eyelids tightly, but tears dripped down his cheeks and onto their bare chests. Draco was making little noises, soft gasps and whimpers and sobs.

“Feels so good,” was all he said, before he came over their stomachs. 

Harry followed shortly after, and when Draco rolled off of him, he could see his come dripping down his pale inner thighs.

“Let me clean you up,” he said.

“I can do it,” Draco said, and grabbed for his wand before Harry could do anything, flicking it and making the mess disappear.

“Are you okay?” Harry said slowly.

“Does it matter to you?” he said coldly, his fingers tightening on his wand, and for a moment, Harry thought he was about to hex him. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring feelings into this, it’s just-”

“Do you love me?” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Draco said, and Harry could tell that it wasn’t a lie. “I know I’m just a pity fuck, I know I’m just-”

“You’re not  _ just  _ anything,” Harry said. “You’re Draco Malfoy. Maybe I don’t love you now, but that doesn’t mean I won’t love you tomorrow, or the day after that. You know I don’t give up on things.”

“You don’t have to save me, you know.”

“I’m not trying to-”

“You are. But I think I kind of like it.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well, that’s all right then.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I suppose it is.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

“Will you stay?”

“As long as you’d like.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was really fun to write, i loved harry potter as a kid but i never got around to writing any hp fic, so i hope i did the drarry fandom justice, lol.
> 
> i might continue this? i need draco to be happy.


End file.
